


Residue from Last Night

by veryspecialone



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryspecialone/pseuds/veryspecialone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff hates Annie's apartment, Annie hates asking for help, and they both hate thunderstorms -- until they don't anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Residue from Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the summer between seasons two and three in response to the prompt "Jeff/Annie-She stays at his apartment after hers is broken into." Title is from "Armour" by Ane Brun. Also, unbeta'd.

Months ago, it was Troy that told Jeff that Annie doesn't speak to her parents, that her parents got divorced when she was twelve and she barely ever saw her father after that anyway, and that Annie's working her way through school while living in that crappy apartment. And Jeff's first thought was that this (the money issues) explained why Annie's excited talk about transferring to a real school seemed to have fizzled out in the last year or so. And his second, disgusting, perverted, man-is-evil thought was that she lived alone, above a sex shop, and that she not only had probable daddy issues but there were no parents in the picture to ever disapprove of him, the disgusting, perverted older guy who sometimes can't stop himself from craning his neck to see just how good of a view up her short skirt he can get today. And then the next day he saw Shirley wipe a milk mustache off of Annie's lip with a napkin in the cafeteria and mentally rescinded that last part.

So it's fitting, somehow, that it's Troy who calls him one evening in the middle of June to ask if Chang has vacated Jeff's couch yet, and Jeff is still riding on the high of having his apartment to himself and so he lets out an exulted "yes" before thinking to play it cool until he finds out why Troy would be asking.

"…Why?" Jeff asks belatedly, warily, knowing that relations between Troy and Pierce were still frosty at best and hoping against hope that Troy wasn't looking to become Jeff's next squatter.

But instead Troy tells him that the shithole Annie calls "home" was broken into last night and Jeff, without knowing why, stands up from the very couch he'd just been ready to defend at any and all costs. "Well, they _tried_ to break in," Troy amends. "She said they got through about half the locks, so she didn't find out until she woke up this morning."

Jeff lets out a breath he's all too aware he was holding, slowly and quietly, so Troy won't hear.

"Anyway, she kind of needs a place to stay tonight until she can get the broken locks replaced."

"Why are _you_ asking me?"

Troy sighs. "She won't call you. She doesn't even know I'm calling. But Shirley and Andre have got the baby, and Abed's with his dad for the summer, and Annie's allergic to Britta's cats…" He doesn't give a reason why Annie can't stay with him and Pierce, and Jeff doesn't ask for one, assuming that the older man is still refusing to speak to Annie; the perceived betrayal of his "favorite" in the cafeteria standoff during paintball seems to have nettled him more than anything else that had occurred that day. It's really the first time that Jeff hasn't known what to say to make Annie feel better. Troy continues, "I tried to bring up maybe calling her mom. I think she still lives just down the street from campus…but Annie made it pretty clear she'd rather stay there with the broken locks. Or get a motel room, and you know the kind of motel room she can afford is probably gonna be even worse. Like, I'm talking Bates Motel, man."

"Yeah."

"So I figured if I called you, you could convince her to stay with you even though she's getting all Britta-level proud about it, since you lived in your car that time and might know what to--"

Jeff interrupts, "I said 'yeah.'"

"Oh." Troy pauses. "Like yeah, you'll do it?"

"I'll head over now."

And he does.

There's no lock on the front door of Annie's building. Jeff isn't surprised. He knows which door is hers by the ancient but cheery "WELCOME!" mat in the hallway, which is even less surprising. It's no wonder someone chose this door to try some B&E. He pounds on the door and calls out "Annie, it's Jeff," because freaking her out by knocking unexpectedly the day after someone tried to break in is the last thing he needs. If he has to calm her down and _then_ convince her to come crash with him this will take twice as long, and he's not convinced he can't catch something disgusting by osmosis from the store mere feet below him. "Open up."

And she does. Her gaze is steely, set…almost formidable. But for once Jeff will not be cowed -- not by her formidable face and for god's sakes, please, just this once, not by her tears. He steps in, closing the door behind him and leaning on it, careful not to touch anything with his bare skin. "Get a bag. You're staying at my place tonight."

Annie rolls her eyes. "Troy."

"Yup."

"I can take care of myself."

Jeff quirks an eyebrow.

"I can! My place didn't _actually_ get broken into last night, did it?"

"You had nothing to do with that!"

"Did too. The locks they couldn't get through were the ones _I_ made my landlord add before I moved in." She's ridiculously smug about this. Jeff, however, doesn't have the time. He swears he can feel some kind of rash starting to creep across his skin, starting at his feet and slowly working its way up his body. Jeff's body, frankly, is too precious for this. He takes his weight off of the door, standing both in Annie's personal space -- she's hardly retreated into her apartment at all since he came in, perhaps in some misguided attempt to make him feel unwelcome -- and standing to his full height.

"Annie. You can shove it in my face all you want. I get it. You're independent. Good for you. But you're also roughly one-quarter my size, and half of that is your chest. So you can yell at me for this later, and you can fight it all you want, but purple belt or not, I am leaving this apartment in five minutes with you in tow if I have to throw you over my shoulder and put you in the trunk of my car. I'm guessing in this neighborhood, no one will look twice at it."

Annie's face turns the same purple color as that belt she's so proud of with suppressed rage, but they're out the door in four minutes and sixteen seconds.

It's half an hour of icy silence and half an hour of high-pitched but somewhat righteous acrimony later that Annie, finally calmed and resigned to a night on Jeff's couch (after confirming that it's been thoroughly cleaned since Chang left), commandeers his coffee table for her study materials; Jeff sits on the other end of the couch and watches television. Her concentration never seems to waver, though Jeff looks over at her more than once to check. Her ability to tune out distraction has clearly become well-honed and it now makes a little more sense that she was able to sleep through someone trying to break through the door to her one-room apartment twenty feet from her bed. And even though her textbooks and neatly organized notes are taking up every square inch of the table except for one corner occupied by Jeff's water glass, she stays shrunk into her corner of the couch -- not like she's still mad enough at Jeff to want to stay far away, but like she's afraid to let her actual person take up any more room. Jeff decides to just wait her out; after all, it is June, and even Annie can only do so much work in advance for the following semester's classes.

Jeff is proven right when after an hour, Annie very slowly packs up her books and slides them carefully and a little reluctantly into her hastily packed overnight bag.

He knows he'll regret asking this but at least it should get her speaking to him: "Learn anything?"

She nods and then she's off, describing the epics she's been reading in preparation for a mythology class -- not that the epics are even assigned reading, mind, just because she feels they'll be useful. Jeff's bored for about ten minutes, but at least she's talking to him easily, and by the time they're engaged in a debate about whether a Cyclops is blinking or winking when he closes his eye, Annie's taking up a normal person's amount of space on the couch. (They come to the resolution that the difference between a Cyclops blinking and a Cyclops winking is an emphatic tilt of the head. Jeff's shin brushes against Annie's knee as he shifts and neither of them make an effort to move away,)

Annie yawns and it's way before Jeff's bedtime but he gets his backup sheets and blankets (also freshly laundered) from his hall closet. When he hands them to Annie she takes them with more grace and gratefulness than she's shown all night. Jeff suspects the darkness outside and the reality of the approaching night have finally made her fully appreciate what it means to not have to sleep in her apartment again tonight, token of her independence or not. Once the linens are in her hands, Annie lets out the tiniest little gasp, like she's just remembered something that only the feel of the sheets could have possibly triggered, and asks hastily, "Britta hasn't been over here lately, has she?"

Her eyes are wide, not accusing, but Jeff must look somewhere close to as uncomfortable as he feels, because Annie rushes on. "I just mean since you had the couch cleaned." To her credit, she quickly realizes that doesn't sound much better and amends further. "The dander! The cat dander, sometimes it sticks to her clothes and travels with her, and I didn't want to be sleeping on it all night if she'd been over here recently…"

"No," Jeff manages, finally spurred into speech. "She hasn't been over here since before Chang started staying with me…and I haven't been over to her place in ages either, so I don't think you have to worry."

"Great," says Annie with relief and every sign of being done with the subject of Britta spending any time at Jeff's. "It happened a while ago when she came over to my place and I couldn't figure out why I was suddenly allergic to my own couch."

"We actually, um," Jeff continues in what he recognizes is the worst impression of nonchalance he's given in a long time without being able to stop himself, "we're not…you know…anymore. We're not…"

"Compartmentalizing?"

And Jeff sees with amazement that Annie's actually smirking a little bit. He clutches the spare pillow he has yet to put down.

"I already knew," she admits.

Jeff furrows his brow. "You did."

"Britta told me. When she was over."

Jeff blinks, dumbly. "Oh. Okay. I just wasn't sure if…yeah."

Annie rolls her eyes, just a little bit. "Just because I can't go into her apartment without leaving looking like I've got a double case of pinkeye doesn't mean we don't talk."

"I just meant…you guys seemed to be fighting a lot this year."

Annie shrugs. "So? We're friends. Some friends just fight. You and I fight all the time."

"Not all the time," Jeff protests, not sure why he's pushing the point.

Annie raises an eyebrow and reminds him, "We fight about fighting about fighting."

"That's the group."

Annie seems to consider it and concedes, "Fine, not all the time. But more than I fight with any of my other friends."

"Except Britta."

Annie's nose scrunches in more consideration, but her expression is still light. "Nope, it's probably about the same amount. Maybe it just seems like Britta and I fight more…since it tends to end in, you know, Habitats for Humanity getting destroyed."

"Or me getting hit in the face," Jeff gently chides her.

"Or oil wrestling."

Jeff clutches at the pillow again. "Yeah," he chokes out, and hopes the strain in his voice is less obvious than it sounds to him. "As opposed to our fights, which end with…"

"You running away crying?" Annie offers with a smile, not unkindly.

"Or, you know, me getting hit in the face again." Jeff shoves the pillow into Annie's arms on top of the stack of linens and stalks off towards the bathroom. "You got everything you need?" he calls, without stopping or turning around, and then without waiting for an answer continues, "I'm just gonna start getting ready for bed."

He shuts the bathroom door behind him and glares at his reflection briefly before carefully setting the running water to the notch indicated by the stolen Italian faucet he had Troy put in and splashing his face.

Damn it, he used to be so _good_ at pretending not to care.

Scratch that. He used to be good at not caring, and then he had to get good at pretending not to care, and now…he doesn't even know what's going on anymore.

Annie, seemingly done crafting the couch into a makeshift bed, softly knocks on the bathroom door while Jeff's brushing his teeth to see when he'll be done, but he mumbles around a mouthful of toothpaste that she should just come in if she wants to brush hers. She hesitates, but soon they're sharing the sink casually, if not quite comfortably. They're both still fully dressed but it's uneasily domestic. Her little travel vanity case is perfectly organized by the order in which she uses things; she brushes and flosses, and then slathers on chapstick before washing her face. Jeff's been flossing now for about three times as long as he usually does, but he's strangely mesmerized by Annie's unadorned face, exposed by the cloth headband she's using to hold her hair out of the way as she scrubs it from the smooth porcelain Jeff is accustomed to seeing to a clean, shiny pink. She splashes water on her face to rinse off the soap and beads of water cling to her lips, still waxy from the chapstick, like dewdrops forming on rose petals.

When she's done, she reaches for the perfectly folded pink pajamas she carried in with her and holds them awkwardly until Jeff has finally thrown his floss into the garbage can and leaves. Neither of them has said a word since she walked in.

When she calls "good night" through his closed door, he's already ensconced in his bed, ready for a long stretch of being unable to fall asleep but unwilling to face any alternative.

He used to be able to deal with this. He used to be able to act however he wanted around Annie when they were alone and pretend she was too young to sexualize when other people were around, pretend the parts of their lives that only happened when they were alone didn't exist. But then the men's room happened and the fight in the study room happened. And now he has to be all _careful_ because it's not safe to act like he used to, like he wants to, around Annie anymore. After all, he never knows when she's going to confront him in front of a crowd…or even worse, in the bathroom. He wonders, not for the first time since getting into bed, how he neglected to even think of the effect it might have on his night's sleep to know that Annie's sleeping on his couch, twenty feet away from him, with her outfit for tomorrow neatly laid out on his coffee table where her books had previously been.

Jeff rolls over, unable to get comfortable, aware that this inability has nothing to do with his actual bed, and hating the feeling. He doesn't know what to do with himself right now. And the habit he's formed, when he doesn't know what to do with himself, is to call Britta. He wants to. Not because he wants to sleep with her, because he was being as honest as he thinks she was being when they came to the snap but firm decision that it was time for their ongoing tryst to end. But Britta never throws Jeff for a loop anymore. He knows what to expect with her. Somewhere along the lines of learning which aspects of foreplay get her hot the fastest, he also learned the names of all the cats she's ever had and that she won't ever miss the Daily Show as long as she remembers it's on (Jeff succeeded in making her forget twice).

In spite of her own best efforts, Jeff thinks as he punches his pillow again, Britta's kind of learned who she is. Which enabled Jeff to learn. And they both even sometimes kind of like who Britta is. Which means both that at this point there's really no chance of Jeff screwing Britta up (any more), and that sometimes he would call her just to tell her what new way Chang had figured out to drive him crazy or some other trivial piece of information that needed to be shared to make it real and rational.

Jeff stills in his relentless shifting when he thinks he hears a noise from the front room, but close listening reveals nothing more, so he settles back into the tangle of sheets and blankets he's created and inhales deeply, hoping to trick his body into sleeping by replicating its breathing patterns.

Calling Britta would probably be a bad idea. They're friends, yeah, but that doesn't mean she's not still touchy about -- Jeff rolls his eyes at himself for even thinking the phrase -- the Annie of it all. Only irony-free Annie would come up with that one.

He doesn't have to do anything, Jeff acknowledges to himself. He's in control here. He's not a puppet, he's the puppet-master. Within an hour or two he's sure he'll fall asleep, and things will seem much easier in the daylight. She'll get in her car and drive back to her re-secured shithole, and tonight will just be this weird thing that happened that they don't really talk about.

Jeff is finally drifting away when a burst of light illuminates the inside of his eyelids, sending a pink flash to his brain. And just as Jeff opens his eyes to figure out why someone is taking flash photography in his bedroom at midnight, a crashing noise rings through his ears. It isn't long before rain is pounding against his west-facing window.

Jeff groans and grabs one of his extra pillows, clutching it to his head in hopes of blocking out the noise and regaining that elusive, blissful feeling of floating away into dreamland when he hears a creak from the floorboards behind him, so loud it's even audible through Jeff's polyester-stuffed barrier. He lifts the pillow and cranes his neck to find Annie standing in his doorway nervously, sleepily, twisting her fingers in the fabric of her pink patterned pajama top.

"I hate storms," she says without preamble, her voice a little raspy from what must have been interrupted sleep.

Jeff nods. "I'm not too big a fan of them either right now."

And though he knows rationally that it had something to do with Annie flinching at the next crash of thunder and hastily explaining that when she was eight, a bolt of lightning had passed not ten feet from her window and hit the house behind hers, Jeff still can't figure out how on earth he would explain to anyone the sequence of events that leads to Annie sliding into his bed beside him, taking the left side as Jeff eases over so that he's between her and the window. He refuses to feel inappropriate though, because how could it possibly be his fault that someone tried to break into Annie's apartment and that there was practically a hurricane ( _hurricanes are bad, Troy_ ) going on outside and lightning makes Annie flinch and squirm just a bit closer to him with every strike?

But the limits of his denial are being severely tested as her body inches closer to his and he can feel the heat coming from her body before they even make contact. The first contact they make is her forehead to his chin; when she feels it she tilts her head up to meet his eyes, touching her forehead briefly before rubbing one finger through the scruff on his chin. The next points of contact are their entire bodies, basically, as Jeff loops an arm around her waist and hauls her the remaining few inches across the pale blue sheets. Lightning strikes once more, the curtains on the window doing little to mask the bright flash as it illuminates Annie's face, and the next parts of their bodies to join are their mouths.

The chapstick Jeff watched her painstakingly apply earlier -- how long ago was it? His clock says it was less than an hour but he could swear he's been lying here for days -- has sunk in and her lips are soft, like, _really_ soft. Her tongue tastes like mint, too, and god, he hasn't been with a woman after she brushed her teeth for the night since Slater, not even Britta. It's kind of scary, but not as scary as the experience of actually sharing the bathroom sink with her, and it's a nice change from that fruity, too-sweet tang of sugary pink drinks he became accustomed to from his usual conquests. Annie pulls his bottom lip between her teeth and sucks, and he decides to stop thinking so much.

They've still been lying side by side all this time, but now Jeff rolls over so he's half on top of her, and Annie wraps her arms around him, not grabbing or caressing but just holding him to her, and he'd call it chaste if she wasn't also pressing her cloth-covered breasts up against his bare chest and swirling her tongue around his like a tornado of young, barely repressed sexuality. Thunder crashes again and she holds him just a little tighter and kisses him a little harder and Jeff has just enough time to think that maybe this is Annie's first introduction to the link between fear and arousal before he catches himself in another train of thought that can lead nowhere good. Luckily, Annie chooses this moment to roll them over -- maybe he should take that purple belt more seriously, because it seems awfully easy for her to seize the upper hand -- and the noise in his brain is significantly quieted, if not muted.

If there's one thing he knows about Annie it's that she doesn't do anything in moderation. The cruder way to say it would be that she has an addictive personality, but that puts the word "addict" into the equation and it's another part of Annie's life he's never liked thinking about. Locking thoughts of the pills into a little imaginary medicine cabinet in his head, Jeff instead thinks of all the things he's seen Annie throw herself into head first -- studying, campus safety, paintball, keeping the study group together _at whatever cost_ \-- and decides that he's never enjoyed any of them more than her new dedication to that spot between Jeff's neck and shoulder. He gropes blindly for a breast, finding it immediately and bolstered by the fact that it doesn't seem to trip her up one bit. In fact, she pulls her torso back a little bit to give him more room while grinding her hips down into his. Jeff fondles and she licks, he squeezes and she sucks, he runs a thumb firmly across the center and she bites gently on his collarbone.

Eventually it becomes conspicuous that Jeff is mostly naked and Annie is mostly clothed, and the next time they switch positions -- Jeff has no problem being on the bottom but Annie's hair keeps getting in his face -- Jeff slides the hand that's now working her other breast over, just a few inches, to her sternum, usually masked by cleavage but currently exposed and vulnerable thanks to her bralessness and gravity. The top button of her short-sleeved pajama top lays directly over the flat bone and Jeff taps it with his fingernail, making four barely audible clicks. He has no intention of voicing the question; he does have _some_ dignity.

Annie pushes him back several inches, but she's not stopping things. She forgoes the buttons and whips the pink top over her head before settling back down. Her cheeks barely have time to turn a matching shade of pink before Jeff is back to work and she's embedded her fingers into his hair. From then on it's really just a fantastic mix of sweat and Annie's boobs and those little squeaks she makes.

(And at one point Annie breaks away to tell him hesitantly but firmly that he has no chance of getting laid by her tonight, and Jeff insists that he never assumed he would, but the look in Annie's eyes says that she can tell that even if he didn't assume it he was probably hoping for it, and maybe it doesn't bother her.)

But she doesn't freak out when he hooks her knee around his hips and presses himself harder against her, even though they're looking at each other so he knows she can see the way his eyes go half-lidded. And then he's holding her waist in both hands and dropping open mouthed kisses all over her torso and he doesn't bother stopping himself from hooking his hands into her pajama bottoms. He doesn't pull down, he just leaves his fingers resting in there as he dips his tongue into her belly button, but the muscles tense under his mouth and Annie finally speaks again.

"I don't know…" she says doubtfully.

It's not a "no" and Jeff's pretty sure he could convince her to let him continue. Even though she's stiffened a little, she's still clinging to his shoulders and hasn't actually pulled away. He's about to give her his most reassuring smile and lean up to whisper _"let me do this for you"_ into her ear in a way that's been well proven to be extremely persuasive, but in the moment between the sentence forming in his head and actually leaving his mouth, he's suddenly assailed by a memory of Britta, crouched with him behind a barricade built of study room furniture as paintballs whiz above their heads and burst on the walls, urgently saying "let me do this for you!" before taking his face in her hands and…

So instead of saying that to Annie, Jeff just nods and says "okay" as he uncurls his fingertips from the inside of her waistband. He lifts his weight from her and flops over to the right on his back with a mighty exhale. She pulls the sheet that's bunched around her hips up to shield her bare chest at first, as they lie side by side, not touching, catching their breath. When the room has grown silent -- even the rain has finally stopped -- Annie sits up, still clasping the sheet.

Jeff makes an inquisitive sound deep in his throat. "Hmm?"

Annie doesn't look at him; Jeff didn't notice at the time but he now sees that when she yanked off the top to her pajama set earlier, she didn't fling it across the room. It's been sitting in an unobtrusive little pile on Jeff's bedside table the whole time. He chuckles without voice, a little breath bursting out of his nose as he grins. Annie slides the shirt back on and turns to him, catching his eye before looking out the window as if to acknowledge the end of the storm.

In response, Jeff turns over on his side, facing her, and holds out his left arm. Annie slides into the vacant space with a smile, fitting back against him and squirming a little in apparent pleasure. Jeff drapes an arm over her midsection as she speaks unexpectedly, murmuring, "You totally planned this whole thing."

"I plead the fifth amendment on the grounds that I might incriminate myself."

When Jeff wakes up in the morning his hand has traveled from resting on Annie's stomach to softly cupping her breast through the cloth of her pajamas, but Annie doesn't seem to mind -- her hand is on top of his, loosely holding it in place. Even while enjoying the weight in his palm and flexing his hand ever so slightly to savor it, he tries to figure out how to play this. Before he can get his self-reproach muscles in gear, though, he hears tinny music coming from his living room, audible through the door that Annie left ajar when she joined him last night. He's just identified it as "The Old Apartment" by the Barenaked Ladies (really, Annie?) when the weight from his hand is gone, along with the warmth pressing along the front of his body, and Annie is darting through his bedroom door to answer her phone.

"Hello?"

Her conversation continues as Jeff rolls out of bed, throws on a t-shirt and a pair of track pants, and plods into the bathroom.

"And you have a duplicate copy of the receipt for me, right?"

Jeff closes the door and relieves himself. As he's washing his hands, he gazes in the mirror out of habit. His hair is even messier than usual. His lips look swollen and feel sensitive to the touch. He shakes his head at himself as he splashes some cold water on his face, marveling at the difference between the last time he stared in this bathroom mirror with Annie in his living room and now. When he's brushed his teeth, he opens the door and leans into the hallway with his head tilted towards the front of the apartment, leaving his feet planted on the cool bathroom tile. He's expecting to see Annie standing in the middle of the room, hands folded demurely in front of her like she does when she doesn't have backpack straps to cling to, smiling nervously with Disney eyes in full force.

She's standing there, all right, but she's already dressed and her hair is brushed, even though she's still devoid of make-up. Her overnight bag is slung over her shoulder and both of her hands hold fast to the strap. She's not smiling nervously, either, it's just…a smile.

"Okay, so that was my landlord and everything's fixed! Thanks for letting me crash. I'll see you at Shirley's birthday, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Annie spins dismissively on the heel of her ballet flat and sails through the door of Jeff's apartment.

Jeff hasn't moved from his spot when there's a knock on that same door maybe ten seconds later. He walks cautiously to the door, sees Annie still on the other side of it through the peephole, and opens it.

"Gotcha."

And there's nothing to say, because…she _did_. So Jeff just steps back to allow her room to reenter. Annie drops her bag back on the floor and heads to the kitchen.

"Do you know how to make omelets? I want an omelet."

"Yeah," Jeff says, "but I only have egg whites."

"That's fine," says Annie.

She chops some vegetables and grates cheese while Jeff cooks, and occasionally she breaks into a tiny little fit of giggles over the look on his face when she abandoned him in his own apartment. The third time it happens, Jeff throws a little piece of bell pepper at her. Annie catches it in her mouth and crows in triumph. Jeff turns back to the stove so she won't see him grinning at the fact that the same school that he complains feeds on his coolness has taken Little Annie Adderall and made her kind of awesome.

Annie lets Jeff triple-check her new deadbolts, files the locksmith's receipt alphabetically with all her other important documents, and doesn't move out of her apartment. It's a shithole, yes, but it's the first place she lived besides her mother's house and rehab, and it's hers, so she's not ready to leave. Jeff, however, is given permission to see her home nightly and, if he decides there is suspicious activity about, to insist she come spend the night with him, provided he doesn't abuse that power. He is also required to spend one out of every five of those nights at Annie's instead of his own apartment.

("One out of every ten."

"Three."

"Eight."

"Three."

"Annie."

"Five is my absolute and complete final offer, or I'll be sleeping there, alone, every night."

And Jeff gave in, with the additional circumstance that she was never to use that particular bargaining chip ever again.)


End file.
